


gravity don't mean too much to me

by distira



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/pseuds/distira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>women's world cup 2011</p>
            </blockquote>





	gravity don't mean too much to me

It starts by beating North Korea.

It actually starts four years earlier with a 4-0 defeat to Brazil in the semifinals, but Hope tries not to think about that game.

It could've also started ten months earlier in a hospital, but Hope doesn't remember the surgery, of course. She just remembers the months of physical therapy that followed, and she just knows that now she has a metal shoulder.

"It's kind of cool," she tells Abby on her first day training back with the national team (it feels like home, she thinks). "I'm actually bionic now."

"Like you weren't before," Abby tells her, backing up to practice penalty kicks like they usually do. She rifles a shot to Hope's left and Hope dives for it. Her shoulder hurts, but not as much as it used to, so she stretches further until she can grab the ball. She lands curled around it.

"See?" Hope says. She picks up the ball and flexes. "Bionic."

"We should get you a wonder woman suit for your next uniform," Abby says. "World Cup two-thousand eleven, brought to you by- SuperSolo!"

Hope laughs. "Let's talk to Nike about that."

"We should," Abby says, wiggling her eyebrows. "It'd be hot."

But when it starts, really starts, with a win against North Korea, Hope isn't wearing a wonder woman suit. She's wearing the USA jersey, which, she thinks, is even better.

When Abby says, "We're going all the way", she says it with such conviction that Hope refuses to believe anything else. (She also dives under the covers and makes sure they go all the way in the other sense of the phrase, too. For superstition's sake.)

"World champions," Hope says. "Man, I can't wait for that. I want that."

She does want that, more than anything. But part of it, she knows in the back of her mind, is that she doesn't want the pain of crashing out 4-0 ever, ever again. She doesn't want to know the cold metal of the bench digging into her thighs while she watches her team struggle, and she doesn't want to take the elevator up to her room alone because nobody else on the team, not even Abby, will talk to her.

But that won't happen again, because it's four years later and they've won their first two games. Because when Abby says, "It's ours, this year", Hope knows it's true.

"Hey, SuperSolo, where ya going?" Abby calls. Hope turns around, most of the way through the hotel lobby, and waits for Abby to catch up.

"Coffee," she says. "I'm tired and there's press stuff later."

"Starbucks or otherwise?" Abby asks. "Oh, let's go to one of those cafes where there are like, a zillion extra shots of espresso."

"We can do that," Hope laughs, so they head out of the hotel and get lost on purpose until they find themselves on a side street.

"Do you miss playing in Europe?" Abby asks, and it's kind of weird because Hope has had more conversations with Abby than she can possibly count, but they usually don't talk about soccer. Not since the last World Cup.

They tried, once.

"They said I might not be able to play, after," Hope had said into her phone. She takes a deep breath and tries to steady herself, but it doesn't work. "But if I don't, I definitely won't be able to play."

"That sucks," Abby had told her. "But seriously? You're Hope Solo. You'll find a way to play no matter what."

"It's not like that," Hope remembers being frustrated. "It's not if I can find a way to or not, it's just that I might not be able to."

"So then you coach," Abby had said. "Hope, you're getting a World Cup medal one way or another."

And that was as far as it had gone.

"Sometimes," Hope says. "Not really. I like magicJack."

"Of course you do," Abby says, kicking her under their outdoor table. Hope kicks back. "You get to play with me, all year long!"

"Couldn't ask for anything more," Hope grins.

"Except the World Cup," Abby says.

"I'm not asking for that," Hope says. "I'm taking that."

They lose to Sweden.

It's okay because they still advance, but it's also not okay, because Hope hates losing, but also because it means they play Brazil.

In the tunnel before the game, Abby leans over to Hope and says, "We've got this."

When it happens, when Abby goes up for a header in the 122nd minute, Hope knows it's going in. She can tell by the way Megan whips the ball in, by the way Abby jumps, and the stadium is loud, deafening, even, but Hope feels like she can hear the dull _thunk_ of the ball as it connects with Abby's forehead and the _swish_ of the net as the ball goes into the goal. She's never liked the sound more.

Ali puts the fifth penalty away and all hell breaks loose. Hope forgets how tired she is, how keyed up she is because she's a goalie in a penalty shootout and sure, pressure makes her, but that means jack shit in the split second it takes the kicker to take their shot, and runs for Abby, slings her arm around Abby and jumps up and down.

The celebration back at the hotel isn't as crazy as it might've been if they'd won in regulation, mostly because everyone's exhausted. Hope sits in the ice bath for almost a half an hour, until Abby pokes her head into the bathroom and tells her to get out before her legs fall off.

"Can you put this in the ice bath?" Hope asks, getting Abby in a headlock and rubbing her knuckles against Abby's forehead. "Must be sore after that screamer, I bet."

"Fuck you, I'll make you scream," Abby says, tugging herself out of Hope's grip and tackling Hope onto one of the beds.

"Is that a promise?" Hope laughs, and she takes Abby's wink as she tugs Hope's shorts off as a yes.

"Sometimes I wish there were no reporters here," Hope says. She's wearing her USA jacket and a pair of black sweatpants and she's just talked to what feels like at least fifty different reporters, even though she knows it was only five or six.

"Seriously? I think it's so awesome that they're here," Abby says. "It's like- they're paying attention, you know? We made them pay attention. And sure, they'll forget about us in a few months, but we made them pay attention to us."

"Yeah, no, that's all great," Hope says. "But sometimes I wish it was just, get up, play soccer. No reporters, no cameras, just us playing."

"No pressure?" Abby asks.

"Nah, girl, bring it on," Hope says. "Pressure makes me." They both laugh, and Abby leans over the edge of the bed and pulls a soccer ball out of her duffle bag.

"Let's go," she says, getting up and jamming her feet into her sneakers.

"Where?" Hope asks, but it doesn't really matter because she follows Abby anyway.

"Well, you said you wanted to just play soccer," Abby says. "So we're gonna just go play soccer. There's gotta be a park around here somewhere, right?"

They get directions to a park from the clerk at the hotel lobby. It's a ten minute walk and it's hot out. Hope unzips her jacket and ties it around her waist.

"You look like a soccer mom," Abby tells her.

"Like Christie," Hope says, because they've both seen the commercials for _Christie Rampone, America's favorite soccer mom_.

"Yep," Abby says. "You gonna get a minivan when we get back home?"

"First on my to-do list," Hope says. They turn the corner and the park is there, small but clean, with a fence around it.

"First to ten, one v one," Abby declares as she drops the ball and takes off running.

Hope unties her jacket and throws it to the ground, tearing after Abby. "Totally unfair, you cheater," she shouts. Abby shoots for the top corner and scores.

"And it's a goal! Abby Wambach scores with her foot, ladies and gentleman, we never thought this day would come," Abby says, mimicking the ESPN commentators. "We all know she's superb with her head but that was a fantastic strike, curled right into the corner, and the keeper burned!"

"That's such shit, if I was there I would've saved it," Hope says.

"Like Brazil four years ago?" Abby asks, and it's a joke, Abby's laughing, Hope _knows_ it's a joke, but that doesn't make it any less dark, any less ugly.

"I thought we were past that," Hope says. Abby jogs over and digs the ball out of the back of the net.

"Hey," Abby says, quiet. "We are. I'm joking." She walks over to Hope and Hope shrugs.

"You sure?" She asks.

"Positive," Abby says. "Your ball." She holds the ball out to Hope, an offering. Hope takes it.

"You're on," she says, and they tear around the park for more than an hour, well after the first to ten.

"You ready for fifty thousand people now?" Abby asks as they walk back to the hotel.

"Born ready," Hope says, and of course Abby starts singing, born in the USA, and Hope laughs and tells her she and Megan should do a duet.

"Good," Abby says. "That you're ready. Because we're gonna need you."

"Please," Hope says. "If I wasn't there you'd just do extra sprints and keep a pair of goalie gloves in your socks or something."

"I'm glad you appreciate and recognize my dedication," Abby says.

"Or you'd just be like Suarez in the World Cup last year," Hope adds as an afterthought. Abby punches her on the arm as they get into the elevator.

"Then I'd snatch the Golden Glove right out from under you," Abby says. "And then you'd be mad for four years until you could reclaim your trophy."

"You'd be sleeping on the couch," Hope nods.

"Just me and the dog," Abby says, lamenting.

"What makes you think you get the dog?" Hope laughs. "Ugh, I'm gross, gonna grab a shower before food."

"I get the dog because you're gross, you just said it," Abby tells her. Hope pulls her shirt off over her head, drifting into the bathroom. She turns the water on and lets it run for a minute, until it's cool but not cold.

"You're invited, even though you're insulting me," she shouts over the water, pulling back the shower curtain and stepping under the spray.

"The team that showers together wins together?" Abby jokes, poking her head into the bathroom. "But now that I think about it, I am pretty sweaty."

"And you think I'm gross," Hope grumbles, reaching for the shampoo. "The dog would totally pick me."

Abby steps into the shower behind her. "You keep telling yourself that."

"We're gonna do it," Abby says for the millionth time after they beat France. They're still wearing their uniforms and they aren't even off of the field yet, but her arm is around Hope's shoulder, pulling her close, and she's whispering in Hope's ear. "No third place this year, we're all the way to the top."

She squeezes Hope's bionic shoulder gently and untangles herself, jogs to catch up with Megan, and Hope rubs her shoulder absently. Abby's right, she thinks. They're gonna do it.

The night before the final, Hope can't sleep. She's sprawled out diagonally on the bed, taking up as much room as possible, and Abby's snoring in the other bed, saying that she needed enough space to sleep the night before a game like this, so they couldn't share. Hope wonders if that one deviation from their routine will throw them off.

She knows the statistics, and she's played the two warm-up games against Japan. She knows they can win. It's the World Cup final, it's what she's waited for for as long as she can remember.

"I wish you'd be there to see it, Dad," she says into the dark of the hotel room.

"Mmfh," Abby grunts. "Dad? Are we role-playing now? Am I supposed to wear a strap-on?"

Hope's never going to get used to how quickly Abby can wake up, from asleep like the dead to sprinting in .06 seconds.

"I mean, if you want to, I'm not opposed," Hope says.

"You nervous?" Abby asks, and she's not joking anymore.

"Yep," Hope says, and she doesn't feel any better for admitting it. She likes being SuperSolo, strong and steady in the cage, intense and fearless and powerful. She likes being the rock of the team, or at least feeling like that's what she is, and she hates what she's doing right now, running through stats and thinking about Japan's midfield and wondering, _what if we don't?_

"Me too," Abby says.

"Yeah?"

"Always," Abby tells her. "Before every game. I think it's good, to be a little nervous. And a little turned on, maybe."

Hope snorts.

"I'm serious!" Abby says. "You gotta like what you're doing, right? Come on, don't even lie and say you didn't get excited after the Brazil shootout."

"Fine," Hope concedes.

"It's okay, though," Abby says. Hope hears blankets rustling and then Abby turns on one of the lamps on the stand between their beds. Hope blinks a few times. "'Cause being nervous just means we want it more."

And Hope knows Abby's right. She's practice with this team for what feels like her entire life, knows these girls better than she knows her own family in some ways, and she knows how badly they want this. She knows that all of them, every single one of them, would give everything they had for the finish tomorrow, she knows that they all will, and she knows that nobody can possibly want it more than they do. She feels like all the wanting will rip her chest open. She feels too small for her body.

"We're gonna win," she says, blinking at Abby. "We have to win." She feels desperate.

"That's the only ending there is," Abby says.

She gets out of bed and turns the light off, and then pushes at Hope's bionic shoulder until Hope rolls into a slightly more compact position, and then Abby climbs under the comforter with her.

There is another ending, though.

It ends with three missed penalty kicks.

It might actually end with three shots hitting the post, but Hope couldn't hear the ball thunking against the woodwork.

It could've also ended with two Japanese equalizers, but Hope doesn't like to think about the sound of the ball swishing into the back of the net.

She hears it too many times, feels the ball slipping just underneath her outstretched arm before she lands on her bionic shoulder and she clenches her fists, wishes she had a wonder woman suit.

She says what she has to, because it's true, "We lost to a great team, we really did." and, "Let's just hope I can stick around for another four years so I can go after the gold."

It's hard not to break down on the field. She comes close a few times, hanging over the barrier for a second and tearing up when she accepts her medal and Golden Glove award, and her face hurts for how hard she's working her muscles trying not to start actually crying. It's harder than any workout she's ever done.

"Four years," Abby tells her. "We'll get it in four years."

Hope doesn't bother to bring up the myriad of what-ifs (what if one of them doesn't get called up, what if her shoulder can't take four more years, what if they get knocked out in the group stages). "It's always going to be four years from now, isn't it?" She asks, and she doesn't feel bad for being bitter, because this isn't a press conference or an interview. This is Abby, and she can be as bitter as she wants around Abby and Abby won't kick her off of the team and turn the whole Association against her. She can be as bitter as she wants and Abby will be bitter right back, or Abby will tell her to shut up and start being SuperSolo for a change, or Abby will not say anything at all because she has a weird sixth sense for when Hope just needs to wallow.

"Nope," Abby says, and Hope can hear in her voice that she's hurting, too. "Next year it'll be three years, and then two, and then one, and then it'll be us with the gold medals."

"In that case," Hope says, scrunching up her nose and wiping her eyes a little, "I'd better start working on penalty kicks now."

"Damn straight, SuperSolo," Abby says. "We're getting you a wonder woman cape for then, too."

"That'll help me save the penalties, huh," Hope says, still a tiny bit bitter.

"Nah, you don't need that," Abby says. "It'll just make you look superfly."

"Fuck you, I _am_ superfly," Hope says, laughing a little, past the hurt. Abby presses a loud, wet kiss to her cheek.

"That's more like it," she says, and they head for the bus.  



End file.
